A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “You sound mad,” Cass said. “What gives?”

  “The chief told me to go get that boat back. He thought she might feel threatened or something and said to take someone along if I needed backup, but I didn’t think I’d need it. So I called her yesterday, said I was coming by today for the boat. Told her exactly what time.”

  “She was okay with giving it up?”

  “No. She hung up on me. But I called again later and left a message so she wouldn’t forget.”

  He looked over at the patrol car. “I figured I’d leave my car here, walk over to her place and drive the boat back. It’s yours, Cass, not hers.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy. If it means that much to her—”

  Tommy interrupted. “Don’t go there, Cass. Hell, who knows what that woman may have done?”

  They stared at him.

  “I mean . . . she sure had motive—or thought she did, anyway. She wanted Finn’s money in the worst way. So don’t go giving away boats, Cass. At least not to her.”

  Cass looked back toward the dock. “So, where is it?”

  “Gone.”

  “The boat or Beverly?” Birdie asked.

  “Both. She wasn’t there at the house, and the boat was gone. A neighbor said she’d gone out early last night carrying a picnic basket and a couple bottles of wine, and she hasn’t seen her since.”

  Nell remembered the Cheese Closet sack that Beverly had with her in the tea shop. She had plans, she’d said. A celebration? But that was when she thought she had an inheritance to celebrate.

  “She was dressed in a sexy outfit, the neighbor said. All dolled up, was how she put it. She said something about Jimmy Choos, whoever he is. Maybe the guy she was meeting.”

  Nell smiled. “She was alone?”

  He nodded. “She told the neighbor she was meeting a friend.”

  “Strange,” Birdie said.

  Tommy nodded. “I went by the galleries to see if anyone knew where she was, but no one had seen her since yesterday. So I walked back here to pick up my car.”

  Tommy shuffled his feet, his polished shoes gathering gravel dust. “Chief’ll kill me,” he said.

  “Why? Because maybe Beverly Walden had plans for a romantic evening? Spent the night with someone? It’s been done before,” Cass said.

  Tommy looked at her blankly. Then he kicked a stone so hard it flew all the way over to the rotting door and bounced off into the brush.

  “No. Because I may have let a murderer get away.”

  Chapter 33

  It was late afternoon by the time Nell dropped Birdie off and drove up her own driveway, crackers, milk, and fruit in a bag at her side. Ben’s car wasn’t in the drive, and she silently cheered his absence, knowing she desperately needed a shower—not only to wash away the stress and fatigue of the day, but to think. A few moments to put her thoughts in order. If, in fact, there was any order.

  She put away the groceries and headed upstairs. Suddenly things were happening quickly, and with each new revelation, Finn’s murderer seemed to be walking closer to them, heralding his presence.

  And he wasn’t coming out of the past, seeking revenge for a long-buried relative. The grave nestled in Finn’s circle of rosebushes was dug with tenderness, a testimony to an old fisherman’s love.

  Nor, she felt sure, was the murderer a gracious Italian. The secrets he harbored were still there, still lurking like a blemish on a lovely painting. But she suspected they wouldn’t be hidden for long.

  Leaving her clothes in a heap on the bedroom floor, she stepped into the shower and lifted her face to the spray. Slowly she began to relax, the water massaging her body, loosening her muscles. Clearing her mind.

  She smiled into the heated shower, her thoughts moving back to the circle of rosebushes hidden in the forest that was Finnegan’s land. There, protected by his overgrown bushes, discarded debris, and no-trespassing signs, he kept his memories safe and his Moira close, settling her in her favorite spot. Did he spread rose petals down first, she wondered, a blanket of them to cushion her bed? Nell’s smile lingered on the thought as the scent of ginger soap filled the shower and bubbles ran down her body in rivulets.

  Finally, reluctantly, she stepped from the shower and into the steamy room, out of the fairy-tale story of Moira and Finn.

  And into real life, where a murderer walked free in their midst.

  Ben was in the kitchen when Nell came down, her hair still damp and curling around her cheeks. He was laying thick swordfish steaks on a baking sheet and coating them with spicy chipotle sauce.

  “Compliments of our friends.” He nodded toward the deck, where Danny and Cass stood, side by side, talking.

  “They’re doing a lot of that these days,” Ben said.

  “Talking?”

  Ben nodded. “Cass even seems to listen . . . sometimes, anyway. I had a long talk with Danny earlier today over a couple of beers. He understands Cass, I think—maybe even better than we do. He knows her life’s been a maelstrom these past months and that she needs her space. He gets it. So he’s there when she wants to talk. Disappears when he thinks she needs space. And she seems to be coming back for more. Leaning on him some. And learning that she doesn’t crumble in a million pieces when someone holds her up.”

  Nell wrapped her arms around him, listening to his words and watching through the window as Danny teased smiles from Cass, and vice versa. It was a lovely dance—moving away, then back together, staying in step.

  Ben breathed in the soapy smell of his wife. “I was tempted to join you up there, but something about the clothes on the floor and the somber silence in the bathroom made me think differently.”

  “I wasn’t singing, you mean?” Nell kissed him.

  “I mean that the vibe you left in your trail made me think you’d had a busy day, one you needed to pull apart quietly and alone.”

  She kissed him again, letting the warmth of his body push away the uncertainty of her thoughts.

  “Are you two at it again?” Izzy came across the family room. She spread her arms around Nell and Ben and nuzzled her head into the space between.

  Sam was behind her, carrying a large bowl of salad. He put it on the counter and laughed at the group hug. “Am I failing on the hug front? What am I—chopped liver?”

  Izzy broke away and tilted her head back to Sam, encouraging involvement. He complied with a kiss.

  “It seems that kind of day, doesn’t it? Hugs. Touches,” Nell said.

  Ben already had the martini mixings going and moved back to it, the sound of his shaker greeting the next surge of friends.

  Birdie set a blueberry crisp on the counter and gave Ben a tight squeeze. “Sounds like we’re just in time. And how intuitive of you, dear Ben, to know we might need a bit of your magic. It’s been what Gabby aptly calls an arduous day, although hers resulted in some lovely grave rubbings. Mine had a few lovely answers, but those were accompanied by a head full of troubling questions.”

  “I think the questions hurt more the closer they come to resolution,” Nell said. “Where’re Nick and Gabby?” She looked at Birdie, wondering if they’d talked.

  “They’re out cruising on the Scaglia boat,” Sam said. “Gabby was helping me scrub the trim when she spotted Sal’s boat. It seems she has an eye for expensive ones.”

  “She asked Sal to take her out?” Nell frowned.

  Sam laughed. “No. She told him. But in a very gracious way.”

  “Did Beatrice go?” Jane Brewster asked. She walked over to the island, her arms filled with flowers from the community garden. Ham was close behind, a bottle of wine in hand.

  “No. Gabby suggested it, but Sal explained that Beatrice gets seasick sitting on their dock. She’s not a big boat lover.”

  “It’d be hard to wear Jimmy Choos on a boat, anyway,” Izzy said as Cass and Danny walked in the room, Danny’s hand on Cass’ back.

  Jimmy Choos and boats. Twice in one day, Nell thought, though Beatrice’s apparently
would never be touched by salt water. Beverly, on the other hand . . .

  Ben was watching her, reading her thoughts. He poured a round of drinks. “I stopped by the station on my way home to ask if things were squared away with Beverly Walden. If she’d calmed down or caused any problems.” He looked at Nell, then Birdie and Cass.

  “Tommy was there and mentioned seeing you three. He explained about the boat. It seems she’s gone off with it. No one knows where she is.”

  “She’s missing, Tommy said.” Birdie took a glass from Ben.

  “Missing?” Izzy asked. “What does that mean?”

  They explained what Tommy had discovered, complete with a description of Beverly’s outfit.

  “Jeez. Jimmy Choos?” Izzy’s brows shot up. “She must have been trying to impress someone in a big way.”

  “Kind of a crazy thing to do,” Sam, the practical boatman, said. “So she was meeting someone? Picking someone up?”

  “So it seems,” Ben said.

  “It must have been important to her. She was supposed to give a report at our Arts Association meeting today but never showed up, and that’s not like her,” Jane said.

  “The police think she may have taken off.”

  “Why?” several voices asked at once.

  “Maybe she felt the police were going to look at her more carefully—and she would have been right,” Ben said. “The money she thought she was getting when Finn died is a sound motive for murder. They need more—fingerprints, the murder weapon. Something. But the pressure is on, and Beverly is a prime suspect.”

  “But why would she take off in a boat, wearing a fancy dress and taking along wine and cheese? Do you know how much those shoes cost?” Izzy said.

  Ben resumed his ritual, shaking the container. “That’s the question of the hour,” he finally said.

  Without an answer to the question, it faded away, and people began to move about, filling small plates with cheese, admiring a new painting Jane had brought to Nell, shaking off the uncertainty of Beverly Walden’s innocence or guilt, presence or absence.

  Ben looked at Nell. “I have a feeling other things happened today.” There was concern in his voice.

  “Yes, they did. But I need a promise from you before we talk about it. A solemn one.”

  “A promise,” he repeated.

  “I need you to talk to Jerry Thompson to make sure Henry Staab doesn’t get in one iota of trouble for something he did years ago to help a dear friend.”

  Ben looked at her curiously. “Henry Staab? That old man from the cemetery? I didn’t know he was still around.”

  Nell shook her head. Poor Henry. Buried before his time twice in one day. “He’s very much alive. He was a friend of Finn’s. He showed us Moira’s grave over at St. Mary’s, complete with flowers Father Larry religiously puts there in her memory.” She paused. “So . . . the promise?”

  Jane looked up from slicing bread. “A promise?”

  “Intrigue,” Izzy said, moving to Nell’s side.

  “Sure, if you think it’s important, I promise,” Ben said, “So, Moira is at St. Mary’s. That makes sense,” he prompted.

  “Except she isn’t. There’s a grave there. But Moira’s not in it. I suspect no one is.”

  Ben frowned. Then, slowly, the realization of Nell’s message sunk in and a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be—”

  Nell nodded. “Finn talked Henry Staab into pretending to bury Moira at St. Mary’s. He even had Father Northcutt do a graveside ceremony after the mass, saying a couple of prayers and blessing the casket. But after Father Larry left, instead of lowering it into the ground, Henry Staab and Finn lifted the casket into the back of Finn’s old pickup and moved her to the spot she loved more than any other place on earth.”

  Izzy’s mouth fell open. Sam came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her, a smile on his face.

  “Wow. That explains everything, doesn’t it?” Jane said. She smiled, too, then sniffed and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “What a loving man. It’s why he didn’t want people trampling around over there.”

  “And why he let the place turn into a jungle pit.” Ham was smiling, too.

  It was a love story that would be retold for a long time to come when memories of the old fisherman were brought up and passed around dinner tables. A story, Nell hoped, that would replace the more tragic one of Finn’s death.

  “He couldn’t handle the thought of Moira being all the way across town, in a place filled with ‘strangers,’” Birdie said. “But the authorities and powers that be wouldn’t have taken kindly to a grave on private land, right next to the water, so it remained his secret, and he did what he had to do to keep it private and to keep his Moira close.”

  Cass and Danny stood at the edge of the group, listening quietly.

  Then Danny said, “Finn talked to me once about Moira, how much he loved her. His love was as real that day as if she were right there beside him. Finn loved. That’s what he did.” He looked at Cass. “He loved. Fiercely.”

  And that said it all—except for what it didn’t say. The man who loved with a giant heart was dead. Murdered.

  Hours later, they settled on the deck chairs, stomachs filled with grilled swordfish and brown butter sauce, and Norah Jones’ husky voice and nimble fingers playing in the background. It was almost normal.

  Nell looked over at Birdie.

  She was checking her phone. When she got up and headed inside, Nell followed.

  “Nick just sent me a text message,” Birdie explained as they walked into the kitchen. “He’s coming over.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. There’s been some news, he said.”

  “About Gabby?”

  “No. She’s home with Ella and Harold, safe and sound.”

  Nell opened the oven door and Birdie pulled out the blueberry crisp, lifting it to the island.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I don’t know. It was cryptic, short. But odd that he’d want to come at this hour. I was actually hoping to talk to him when I got home tonight about what we discovered this afternoon. Confront him about the office, I guess I mean, and demand he tell me why he was in that building.” She looked around for a spoon. “But Gabby’s fine, and that’s the important thing.”

  Nell held the plates while Birdie spooned out the dessert, topping each helping with a scoop of ice cream.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Nell.”

  Nell pushed away her own uneasiness. She pulled out a tray and began filling it with plates. “He probably just wants a piece of the dessert.”

  But they both knew that it wasn’t Ella’s blueberry crisp bringing Nick out at this hour.

  Birdie carried the tray outside while Nell waited at the front door.

  She looked up at the moon, nearly full, its light casting shadows across the street and lawns of the neighborhood. In the distance, an animal’s howl broke the stillness. A plaintive cry.

  Headlights pierced through the moonlight, and seconds later the blue Altima pulled up behind Izzy and Sam’s car.

  She waited, holding open the screen door.

  “Am I turning into a bad penny?” he said with a worried half smile, kissing Nell on each cheek.

  “I hope not,” Nell said. “Come. Everyone’s out back.”

  Ben had already poured Nick a drink.

  He took it gratefully, then sat in the chair Sam had pulled over from the dining table.

  “It’s not good news,” he began.

  The deck grew quiet and the moon seemed to grow in size while they waited. Its bright white light fell through the trees and across the deck. Nick’s face was lit, as if he were on stage.

  Birdie was watching Nick with the same apprehension that rattled around inside Nell. Nick’s lie, whatever he was hiding. Was it yet another disruption to their summer? She closed her eyes briefly, her words a whisper inside her head. Do not be guilty of anything more than surprising Birdie
with a grandchild, of bringing Gabby into our lives, Nick Marietti. Do not . . .

  But Nick’s news had nothing to do with Nick. He leaned forward and began to talk, his distinctive accent filling the deck. “Gabby and I went out on the Scaglia boat today. On our way back in, we saw a couple patrol boats circling around, lights flashing. They were towing a boat back to shore. It looked like trouble, so Sal turned his yacht around and headed in the other direction to get us away from whatever was going on. That boat is fast, let me tell you, and quiet. He was protecting Gabby. But it’s hard to get anything past her. She spotted the boat, pointed to it. Even from a distance, she knew whose it was.”

  He looked over at Cass.

  “It was Finnegan’s boat,” he said.

  The Moira, the boat that Beverly Walden had taken out to sea in a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes.

  Nick took a deep breath. “Well, we went on around, circled a few coves. Sal assured us the boat probably just ran out of fuel. Happens more than you’d think, he said.

  “But when we got back to the club, the police were there. Some reporters were lurking around. There wasn’t any way to avoid the confusion, though Sal tried his best. Before we could stop her, Gabby climbed out and ran over to where they’d towed the boat. It was as if she wanted to claim the boat, protect it somehow.”

  “Was Beverly there?” Cass asked.

  “No,” Nick answered. “There was nothing there but the boat, picnic things—cheese, glasses, some beach towels, an empty, broken bottle of wine—and a piece of torn dress caught on a bolt on the side of the boat.

  “They’re looking for a body,” he finished.

  Chapter 34

  It took the police until dawn to find Beverly Walden’s body, although the body actually found them, was how Tommy Porter put it. It washed up on shore right near the yacht club, as if looking for the boat it had lost.

  And it took only a few hours more to piece together what had happened.

  Beverly Walden had been poisoned.